


Remember

by charlottesometimes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Brodinsons, Brother Feels, Drunk!Loki, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Poor Loki, Thor Angst, Thor Feels, Thor Is a Good Bro, Thor Needs a Hug, Thor also needs a slap, Warning: Loki, at all, but i think he knows that, i dont even know what i'm doing, lol jk no he's not but he's trying, or i should say "attempted hurt/comfort", sorry so very sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1632587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottesometimes/pseuds/charlottesometimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his cell on Asgard after "The Avengers" but before "The Dark World," Loki starts to lose it. One of the only things that brings him release from the never ending sameness and the never ending lack of privacy—and the ONLY thing that brings him sleep without terrible dreams—is the plentiful mead that he has convinced Frigga to keep him supplied with. He begins to drink far too much on a regular basis. After all, who is there to judge him who has not already written him off? And what reason has he not to indulge in the few ways he can? </p><p>Then one night, after months of planning and scheming, when Odin is away on a diplomatic mission, Thor sneaks into the dungeons to visit Loki. </p><p>The brothers talk, and much is discovered on both sides. But in the morning, Loki doesn’t remember, and Thor doesn’t get a chance to do it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remember

**Author's Note:**

> I have only begun posting fics in the last six months or so, and I would love constructive criticism. Also, it's not betad.
> 
> So here's why I wrote this. When we meet Thor in “The Dark World,” he’s like a different friggin guy than the one we know from “Thor” and “The Avengers.” And while this happens plenty in the MCU—Loki in “The Avengers,” for an obvious example—I always like to try and understand what might have happened to the character to make the change make sense. Clearly, Thor in TDW is depressed and conflicted and confused. I assume that started earlier than the party where he rebuffs Sif. He was probably questioning his life and Asgard since after The Avengers. And why would that be? What changed? Loki. The answer is Loki. His brother’s in the dungeon, and think about it: Thor has *no idea* what went on with Loki. Here’s him trying, in his own misguided way, to find out. 
> 
> This is in the same universe as a very long post-Dark World fic I’m working on, which I think I’ll start posting soon. Maybe I’ll group them together as a series, even though this is just a fluffy little one-shot and the other fic is going to be almost as plotty and angsty as it is fluffy.

Thor crouched in the shadowy hallway a few yards from the stone and iron doors that led down to the dungeons, nearly holding his breath as he listened to the low conversation of Fandral and the two palace guards stationed there. Things were coming to a head. It seemed that Thor and Fandral’s insane plan to bypass all the defenses Odin had set up to ensure no one saw Loki might just work after all.

“Well yes, Tyr  _did_ say you were a whoreson, but that’s no reason to get this twisted up about it—“ came the voice of the blond swordsman.

“That _boy_ has been overstepping since the  _day_ he made general,” one of the guards hissed back. “I can’t—I can’t let this stand. I cannot. Pissing Hela, I will—“

“You know he and Erlander’s son are playing at cards tonight, don’t you?” Fandral put in casually.

“Erlander’s son!” said the second guard. “By Odin’s beard, those two are in together?”

“That’s it,” said the first guard. “That’s it. How often do they play? Where? Tell me.”

“On my honor, I do not know,” Fandral replied gravely. “It was by chance I came across them this night. If you would hope to interrupt them, I’m afraid you’ve missed your chance, seeing as you are on shift this evening.”

A pause. It seemed that Fandral had been exactly right about how to lure the guards away. And here Thor had just wanted to knock them out so they wouldn’t remember who did it. If this plan worked—if this really worked after all—then within a few moments Thor would be talking to Loki in a peaceful, nonthreatening environment for the first time in years. Thor braced one hand on the wall, nearly giddy with relief and what he chose to call “anticipation,” though he suspected it might better be termed “anxiety.”

“… Will you watch the doors for us, swordmaster?” asked the second guard. “We’re friends, right? We’ve fought together—“

“It would be my pleasure,” Fandral said lightly. “I do like good gossip. My only request is that you come back to me with a roaring story about what passes between the four of you. The bloodier the better!”

“Aye!” said both guards. The clang of vambraces on chain mail told Thor that one or both clapped Fandral on the back. A moment later they filed past where Thor was hidden, faces a mixture of glee and rage.

When they had disappeared down a twist in the hallway, Thor stepped from the shadows to face his smirking friend.

“I did tell you—“

“Yes, you did,” Thor said, moving toward the door. “You did. Thank you.”

“Naturally,” Fandral replied, inclining his head slightly as Thor drew near and stopped. Fandral frowned. “Go on, then,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

“Truly, thank you,” Thor said instead. “I appreciate that you understand—my need to see him. I know that there are many others who do not understand.”

“He’s not so bad,” Fandral replied, nodding. “Strange taste in hair styles, a little too enamored of you, but not such a bad kind beyond that.”

There was more to Fandral’s cooperation than that, and both men knew it. Fandral was, after all, the only man in Asgard who Thor had confided in about his curiosity and uncertainty where Loki was concerned; he might be the only man in Asgard who could possibly have understood, having always had a certain fellowship with the disgraced, disowned second prince.

But neither man felt the need to vocalize any of this. Thor just put a hand on Fandral’s shoulder briefly before turning away, and pulling open the heavy stone door.

He shut it behind him and, suddenly, was utterly alone in the dark quiet of the staircase that led down to the space between the rows of cells. It was darker, and lonelier, in the dungeon than usual; Thor had made sure all the prisoners other than Loki were moved to bays in the healing rooms for the evening, using his discretion as temporary regent while Odin completed a rare unavoidable diplomatic mission to declare a false medical emergency. The prisoners were being searched, thoroughly and invasively, for mites.

What they did not see—for example, Thor visiting Loki—they could try to tell Odin, upon his return to Asgard, in exchange for leniency.

Thor felt, not for the first time, a sudden pang of anger at Frigga. _She_ could see Loki because she could use magic to see him while still adhering to the letter of Odin’s law. But Thor could not, and Frigga would not defy the Allfather so far as to even pass along a message for Thor. Only in the last few years had Thor begun to see just how frighteningly loyal his mother was to his father’s every word.

Thor shook himself from his thoughts, and stepped forward. The effect of all the cells having been shut down for the night was that the dungeon was as dim as a deep cave, eerily lit by only a distant glow from far down one side of the hallway: The walls of Loki’s cell. Thor started toward it, footsteps seeming loud in the silence despite the softer soles Thor now wore for his many delicate peacekeeping journeys, the hilt of the long knife on his belt clanking softly against his breastplate. He was not the picture of stealth, but then, he was not trying to be.

He passed empty cell after empty cell, smelling the lingering scents of unwashed prisoners, blood, and urine. Then, all at once, Thor’s destination came into view as he turned a corner, and the crown prince was confronted for the first time by a view of Loki in his cell. The cell itself was of average size, on a corner of the grid-like dungeon. The walls shimmered with sickly pale golden light. Just as Frigga had mentioned, a few chairs and tables stood around the white rectangular space, with a divan to one side. Books, parchment and ink pots dotted most surfaces. That was all as Thor had expected.

Loki, however, was not as Thor had expected. He reclined on the floor of the cell, stretched out fully in the center, head propped up on a throw pillow and turned away from Thor. One leg was bent and one pale, bony hand upheld a deep wooden goblet, sloshing it slightly side to side as if in tune to some silent song. Beside him sat what was, unmistakably, a jug that either did contain or had contained some spirit. The ever-attentive prince made no sign that he noticed Thor’s approach.

Thor had to cover his eyes with one hand as he approached the cell, his chest tightening with a roil of emotion. Then he lowered his hand, and peered at the cell more closely.

Ink stained most of the furniture, as if Loki had tried desperately to find the words to tell someone something, but perhaps had never found them. The books were all open, to a one, as if Loki could not settle down to any of them, restless, bored, abandoned of his reason, or all three.

Thor also found himself scanning the cell for signs of Loki's living conditions. There was a chamber pot. That was much better than most prisoners got. And it did not seem to be ... Neglected. A tray of untouched boar sat near the small portal through which items were passed, in one corner of the cell. It was a generous portion, and good boar, that Loki had not touched. Thor pushed down the impulse to frown and ask Loki why he was not eating.

Thor hid his eyes again. Part of him considered retreating before Loki noticed that he was there; he hardly wanted the proud sorcerer to know that Thor had seen him in such a vulnerable moment. And a larger--or at least a louder--part of Thor wanted to turn around and leave Loki both physically and mentally, writing him off forever because he had the  _arrogance_ and  _thoughtlessness_ to be overwhelmed by drink  _tonight_ , the  _one night_ when Thor needed to-- _needed to_ and also, much more importantly,  _could_ \--to talk to him.

But it was too late, either way.

"I would offer you a drink," came Loki's voice thickly as Thor took refuge in his closed eyes. "But I've only been given one goblet, and besides. I do not actually want to share."

His words blurred together vaguely, and Thor knew at once that Loki was very drunk. The young sorcerer was trying to clip his consonants appropriately, as he always did at this stage, and he was failing. Once, that little fact had made Thor smile, whenever Loki got drunk enough to let his guard down. But for some reason nothing was amusing about anything at this moment.

"That is alright," Thor replied quietly. "I ..." He trailed off. He had planned to say "I have plenty in my chambers." But that seemed mocking. "I am alright," he said instead, lamely.

Loki made a quiet, neutral sound and brought his goblet to his lips, draining it dry before dropping both the cup and his hand heavily to the white floor with a click.

This was not exactly how Thor had imagined this meeting beginning, and his anger at Loki's current state was beginning to swell. It threatened to block out even his guilt at feeling that anger. This was his  _only chance._ This could be  _Loki's_ only chance.

"Sit up, brother," Thor said quietly, crossing his arms. "I need you with your wits about you."

Loki chuckled quietly, but did not move. "Do you?" he asked. "What has happened, then? Has some tyrant come to power who will destroy worlds if he cannot be shown enough well-cast illusions? Or a king has take control of the Nine Realms who requires me to create a grand and gleaming spectacle at his daughter's wedding, or he will wreak the most savage vengeance upon you and yours?"

These expected, self-deprecating comments rolled off Thor like so many raindrops. "No," he rejoined easily. "I would speak with you. I have questions that I have long yearned to ask, but I have not had the chance. Please sit up, brother."

"I know, it is so difficult to coordinate our schedules for a proper chat these days," Loki said, still not moving. "What with your duties and me, well, I've got all these library books to reread, and only 4,000 years to do it."

Thor felt his nostrils flaring. "Do you not hear what I am saying to you?" he asked, his voice coming out more brusquely than he had intended. "I am saying that I want to hear what you have to say in your defense, Loki.”

“My defense of what?” Loki asked casually, straightening one pant leg and  _still_ not looking at Thor. “You could not possibly mean to hear my side of anything. Odin has already heard my case and rendered his judgment. I no longer have a”—his words were interrupted, clearly to his surprise, by a hiccup, here—“side. Oh my.” He giggled drunkenly.

Thor leaned his head on the light wall, feeling the tingle of magic in his skin. “I can’t ask you when you’re like this,” he said. “And I do not know if I will have another chance to speak with you. Do you have any idea how much planning went into this meeting?" he asked. "Look around you. I moved the prisoners out so we might be alone. Fandral lured off the guards. I told lies while helping Odin deal with relations to Bredtre so that he would be called away on a diplomatic mission. And you're  _drunk_."

"Oh, I'm so sorry I do not spend my time waiting around for you, Thor," Loki slurred. He hiccuped again. "I honestly never expected you to come, actually," be added, more quietly.

"How could I not?" Thor said, encouraged by the change in tone. "You are my brother. I cannot ... I cannot seem to accept that you have done the things you've done. I need to know Loki. Why did you turn to evil?"

At that, Loki broke out into peals of laughter interrupted only by hiccups, his thin frame rocking on the floor. "Ah," he said finally when the fit subsided. "Why did I turn to evil. That is delightful, Thor. Straight to the point. Wonderful. So very  _you_."

"Do not evade the question, Loki."

"Why are you an idiot?" Loki asked. "That's  _my_ question."

Irritation lanced through Thor at the old insult; he never could understand what Loki was trying to  _accomplish_ with his insults to Thor’s intelligence. It wasn’t as if anyone else ever laughed, when he made them.

"Why don't you sit up and look at me, Loki?" Thor asked. “And at least  _try_ to answer some of my questions—“

“I don’t owe you any answers!” Loki said, suddenly sitting up, turning to face Thor. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Now that Thor could see Loki, he saw that his younger brother wore house garb, as he would have during lessons or councilor’s meetings when he lived in Asgard as a prince. His hair had clearly been neat that morning, but was now mussed from lying on the floor.

But the fact that jumped out at Thor was that Loki looked healthy again, at least physically. His face had good color, and he had put on enough weight and gotten enough rest that he was no longer hollow-eyed and paper-skinned. This, Thor thought, could be a good or a bad sign. If he was managing to live with himself, to eat and sleep, perhaps he was not so mad as Thor believed. But then again, perhaps … perhaps he was simply so gone to madness and wickedness that he could live with them happily. That is the conclusion father, for one, would surely draw.

Thor realized then that he had been staring, and looked away.

Loki did the same, focusing again on his empty goblet. Then, without a word, he poured himself another full glass of what appeared to be mead, and downed it in one go.

“Oh, brother, did you have to do that?” Thor heard himself say.

Loki looked up at him, right in the eyes, and did it again. And then a third time. By then, the large jug seemed very light as Loki poured.

Thor closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re going to make yourself sick,” he said.

“Probably,” Loki replied. And in fact just then, he hiccupped again, clapping a hand to his mouth, and Thor was not at all sure that Loki didn’t have to take a moment to keep the mead from coming back up.

Thor sunk down to the ground with a sigh to sit just outside the cell, still leaning against the tingling light wall.

Loki, one hand on his stomach, blinked blearily at the ground. Then he looked up at Thor.

“Thor?” he said, tongue even thicker than before. “Thor? … Are you … are you really there …?” He reached out to the light wall and scooted forward, loose-limbed, until he could touch the wall where Thor’s face was. “I never thought you would come here … I never thought … see you again.”

Oh, Norns. He was obviously in a blackout. Loki rarely drank this much, at least as far as Thor knew, but if he did overdo it he tended to lose his memory. And while he was in the blackout period, he would do this—reset, so to speak, as if he had just entered the moment for the first time.

Thor’s hopes mostly evaporated. He wouldn’t get coherent answers this night. He would have to try again later, somehow.

But tonight, he was here with Loki. He may as well make the best of that. “Yes, I am here,” Thor said, changing his approach accordingly. “I wanted to see you. Just to see you.”

“I …”—he hiccupped again, and this time he didn’t seem amused by it so much as nauseated. He blinked a few times, looking vaguely green, and went on. “I wish sometimes that I could see you. Even though you tried to kill me. Even though you hate me. Even though … I hate … you.” He hiccupped again, wincing. Then he seemed to notice his mead jug and goblet, and clumsily poured another drink.

“Loki,” Thor said quickly. “Wait a minute.”

Loki looked up and stared, eyes dull. Thor stood and moved around the cell to the small button that made a part of the wall passable, for guards and servants. He impressed a key into the space above the button, and pressed.

The wall shut again behind him as he strode toward where Loki was still staring up at him. Thor sat down beside his brother and pried the goblet from his fingers. “My turn,” Thor said, lifting the goblet. Then he drained it.

Loki shrugged and moved to lay down on the floor. Thor moved out of the way, a little disappointed that Loki was already going to pass out, but Loki reached for Thor’s thigh and moved it back into place, laying his head on it with a small sigh. “Don’t feel good,” Loki mumbled.

“No,” Thor replied, staring down at his obliterated brother. “I would imagine you do not.”

Then he looked around the empty prison, as if there might be someone watching. Of course, no one was.

Thor put his fingers in Loki’s long hair and began to pet him, as Frigga had when they were boys.

Loki sighed again, and Thor felt absurd. Absurd, but utterly absorbed.

“Why did you let go of Gungnir?” Thor asked in one last, desperate attempt to get the answered he wanted out of the evening.

Loki shifted slightly, and frowned. “Ah, well,” he said. “I had no choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’mn I had no choice, Thor,” Loki said. He sounded drunkenly matter-of-fact, though, not bitter.

“Why did you have no choice?”

“Nothing here for me. No chance at … ever being right here. I’nly had one chance. Failed. No fixing it.”

“So you would rather have died than try to fix it?” Thor asked softly.

“Can’t  _try_ something that can’t be done,” Loki grumbled. “Dying meant … it wasover. No more wondering. No more wanting things I’can’have. No more empty … ness.”

Thor increased the pressure of his caresses on Loki’s scalp, and Loki sighed again. This was, all in all, one of the strangest moments of Thor’s life so far. And he had traveled the Nine Realms.

“Are you glad you didn’t die?” Thor asked.

Slowly, subtly, Loki shook his head, No.

“You still wish you’d died?” Thor asked, frowning.

A slight nod, Yes.

Thor felt suddenly very cold and very small. “Loki …” he began.

Just then, Loki shot up to a seated position, staring at Thor wild-eyed. “What’reyou  _doing_?” he asked, horrified. “Why’re you in my—cell—Oh, Norns.”

He bent forward and, without further ado, unloaded some of the mead he had guzzled onto the spotless white floor in a gush. Thor winced for him.

Loki wiped his mouth and gave Thor a glare that could have burned down a jungle. “Get out,” he said, trembling slightly. “Get  _out_. Why do you  _mock_ me with your presence, why would you—“

“I am not mocking you,” Thor said, backing away and raising his hands to show that he was unarmed. “I was … talking to you. You are very drunk—“

“I said. Out.” Loki’s glare was undiminished in its intensity, and it was no less frightening for the sheen of sweat on his brow, the smear of vomit on his chin, or the way one hand clutched his stomach while the other propped him up unsteadily.

“Fine,” Thor said, rising. “I will go. I am sorry.” He stood up, straightening his armor and cape.

“Why do you goad me with your affection, Thor? Why do you masquerade?”

Thor looked back down at Loki, whose eyes were suddenly more lucid.

“Masquerade?” he asked weakly.

“You pretend at continued affection. You make  _noises_ like you still love me. It’s like—a knife—each time, Thor. Because there is  _no_ undoing the things that have been done. It is—” And, without warning, there were tears in Loki’s eyes—“It is  _cruel_.”

Thor swallowed, resisting the impulse to cross the distance between himself and his brother, to comfort him and tell him he was wrong, had it all wrong. “I … do not masquerade,” Thor said. “I do hold on to some affection—“

“I would kill you  _right now_ if I had a weapon,” Loki spat back. “I would drop you on the spot. Do you understand, Thor? Get out, before I come up with some way to manage it.”

Thor’s face felt hot, and he shook his head. “Please, Loki, don’t say these things,” he said. “It is untrue to say that I mock you.”

“What then, Thor? Do you not even  _know_ you’ve stopped loving me? Or that you never did?”

“Loki, no—“

“Yes,” Loki hissed. “Yes. Think about it, Thor. Think of all the things you’ve done to me. Think of all the things  _I’ve_ done to  _you_. There is no saving this. Why do you  _cling_ to something that was an  _illusion_ from the start?”

And with that, Loki launched himself at Thor, his body grazing Thor’s as his hands grabbed for the long knife on Thor’s belt, pulled it from its sheath, and backed away again, leaving Thor weaponless and realizing he had just been the victim of a very clever and subtle technique that he had never seen the likes of before.

But the maneuver, though successful, rocked Loki, and before he could get into a fighting stance he was bent over and spilling more mead onto the floor, cursing between heaves.

Thor stepped forward and, as gently as Loki would let him, removed the knife from Loki’s hand, resheathed it, and moved it to hang behind him, out of reach.

“I’ll go, Loki,” Thor said quietly. “If that’s what you want.”

Loki spit and closed his eyes, breathing hard and still bent double. “Go,” he said. “Go now.”

Thor nodded, lips pursed, and depressed the button pad on the inside of the cell before stepping out and feeling the wall shut no sooner than his body was through it.

Once on the other side, Thor turned and looked at Loki. “Goodbye, brother,” he said, feeling oddly empty.

Loki looked away, still clutching himself, and shook his head. “Go,” he said again.

Thor sighed and, turning the dagger back to its proper place on his belt, strode away from Loki’s cell.

He did not return to the dungeons again until he had to, nearly one year later.


End file.
